


Heralds and Pariahs

by Valvopus



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:44:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valvopus/pseuds/Valvopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian was there at Redcliffe with a witty line and a plan: get the Inquisition to stop the Venatori. Only they never showed up. Enter the ridiculous notion of warning them and saving the day and an elf who definitely doesn't want to be anybody's Herald and they might be able to beat the Elder One and not become dragon fodder. Right?</p><p>Otherwise known as I needed more Pavellan in my life. Will update as I write it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Haven

**Author's Note:**

> So this is basically going to follow the plot of Inquisition unless I suddenly decide to get creative in which case flying cows may be seen over AO3.  
> I wanted a story where you have all of Dorian's issues with an inquisitor who isn't so sure of everything. It bugged me that when Dorian asked where this was going there wasn't an option for "I have no idea."

Dorian wasn't sure what he expect when he reached Haven, to swoop in save the day and be praised probably not. To have made better time and actually give a useful warning to the inquisition rather than get there just before the army and announce who their enemy was before all but collapsing onto a blond man wearing a ridiculous furry cloak, definitely. The elf that had appeared hadn't hesitated, flanked by another elf a dwarf and _Maker_ , a Qunari, he had demanded a plan from the man, Cullen, for defending the small town before setting off to fight. Cullen had frown at him slightly and passed over a lyrium potion,

“Get inside the gates, I don't want our Templars thinking you're the enemy. If we survive this you have information the Herald will need.”

 

Dorian nodded and stumbled inside downing the blue potion. Skirmishes were already breaking out around him, he sent fire roaring at a Venatori mage who was stumbling through their spell book. A stupid tactic, binding spirits to an object was fine but that many spirits bound in one place was asking for trouble, plus it slowed them down when casting.

“You! Mage!” Dorian whirled to see a man stumbling forwards in chantry gear, “I would be grateful for some healing.”

“Not really my forte I'm afraid.” Dorian left out a breathy laugh as a trebuchet fired on the approaching army. Healing magic wasn't for Altus mages, they have better things to do than learn how to treat basic injuries, he had thought it beneath him. Even since he had left Tevinter he hadn't bothered with it, he could handle himself well enough in a fight that he had no need for it personally, now though he wished he was more useful. More men swarmed the streets around them, Dorian fought as well as he could, keeping the man, Chancellor Roderick he had muttered while Dorian swung his staff fiercely to defend them, behind him. They kept up a pattern as they approached what looked to be the only solid building in town, the Chantry. Dorian would help Roderick forwards, see more Venatori and have to stop to fight. They were climbing steps when a second trebuchet fired causing an avalanche which buried most of the approaching force.

“Well that should even things out a little, though there may still be some-” Dorian was cut off by a roar. He turned at the sound and froze. A dragon, but even from a distance he could see that he was wrong. Old Gods or the Maker, Tevinter had a thing for dragons and that was very definitely not any dragon he had even seen. _An archdemon_ , the thought floated into mind as it soared overhead, tattered wings flapped as it banked around the Chantry then let out a breath. The wooden huts around Dorian caught fire as he ducked into a wall. The beast didn't seem to care if it was killing Venatori or Inquisition, which at least made their journey faster as Roderick began to mutter the chant beside him. They'd make statues of him if the man survived this, a Tevinter mage saving one of their Chantry. Hopefully he'd survive too otherwise there would be no one to properly appreciate it. That was looking less likely with an archdemon flying about but it didn't hurt to dream.

“Buildings collapsing, can’t move, stuck, going to die. Fire and burning and the Herald. Ice and movement, carried free.” Dorian froze as a figure appeared before him he gazed up at Dorian under a hat brim that was far too wide. “He’s helping them, I will help too.” The figure disappeared again as the Qunari he had seen earlier barrelled past him being followed by a dwarf with a crossbow an elf with her own bow followed afterwards shooting more curses than actual arrows. The Qunari turned to him as the Venatori fell back slightly,

“Get to the Chantry, we're regrouping there.” Dorian nodded hurrying now as he watched the giant swing an awe through a group of Venatori and continue forwards without breaking stride.

 

Inside the chantry there were a few people huddled at the back, Roderick braced himself against a door to hurry others inside as Dorian looked around. Cullen was also watching through the doors frowning as more people entered,

“Where is he?” No sign of the Herald then, that wasn't reassuring.

“He is helping those he can to escape, Iron Bull, Varric and Sera with him.” There was an Orlesian lilt to the accent but Dorian didn't see the speaker, he was watching the Chancellor who looked like he was about to collapse. The man nodded for his help as the Herald burst through the door with the three Dorian had seen earlier and headed for Cullen. Dorian ducked under the Roderick’s shoulder then staggered as the man's knees gave out. The Herald, covered in blood, turned to watch them alarmed as Dorian half dragged the Chancellor to a chair.

“A brave man, he stood against a Venatori.”

“Briefly, I am no Templar.” The elf nodded and leant slightly on his staff as Cullen closed the distance,

“Herald, the trebuchets bought us time but the dragon can level this town alone if it wants to. There have been no demands from the army, they just continue to advance.” Dorian shook his head and he knelt to help Roderik, he had been stabbed, three times at least.

“There was no bargaining with the mages, either.” A bitter tone seemed into his voice slightly, what had been so important that the Herald, a mage himself hadn't gone to Redcliffe? He was certain there had been Inquisition scouts in the area.“This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all this way to take your Herald.” The Herald rubbed his face leaving a bloody smear behind, markings beneath the blood danced, caught in the light as candles flickered.

“Of course, people start declaring you a Herald, suddenly everyone wants to kill you. How do I stop him?” The elf was focused on Dorian now, assessing him even as he breathed deeply, evidently exhausted.

“Trust me that is not information I would keep to myself. And such a promising start with the landslides.” Sarcasm bit into his tone but no one seemed to care,

“The trebuchets are still an option. If we turn them to the mountains above us.”

“We’re overrun, to hit the enemy we’d bury Haven.” The elf sounded resigned as he spoke. He'd already accepted Cullen's plan was all that was left. Arguing without hope. Cullen's reply was soft, a parent knowing they had to disappoint a child.

“Herald, this is not survivable now. The only choice we have is how spitefully we end this.”

“Mages to abominations as they face the Rite. Blood so much blood. Pain everywhere.” The pale boy he had seen earlier had reappeared nearby and spoke quietly. Cullen coughed looking uneasy which wasn't surprising, Dorian had heard the man had been a Templar before the inquisition. The boy was a question though, he didn't look like a demon nor seem possessed. A curiosity but not one he had time for at the minute.

“Cole I did ask you not to do that. My point stands Herald, we are trapped.” They were, Dorian was on his feet before the thought had formed, they were giving up? He had decided to do something for once in his life and they were giving up?

“Well, that’s not acceptable. I didn't race here only to have you drop rocks on my head.”

“Should we submit? Let him kill us?”

“Dying is typically a last resort, not first. For a Templar you think like a blood mage.” Roderick spoke before Cullen could reply, standing from the chair with renewed purpose. The blood was showing beneath his robes,

“There is a path. The summer pilgrimage. Andraste, she showed me. She has shown me so I can tell you.” The Herald looked between the Chancellor and Cullen then nodded slowly,

“If that thing is here for me, I'll make him fight for it.” His voice was level, controlled.

“But what of your escape?” Dorian watched as Cullen realized what the Herald was trying not to say. The elf gave a humourless chuckle and shrugged.

“Perhaps you can surprise the Elder One.” Dorian's word's couldn't have given much comfort but then what could he say? _'thank you for dying for everyone, I hope it's not too painful?'_ The elf nodded slightly without replying to him, staring ahead.

“She'll be sad if you die.” The elf smiled slightly at Cole’s words,

“and I thought I'd be doing something right for a change. Come with me, Cole?” The boy nodded,

“I want to help them escape.”

 

Dorian was well above the tree line when the signal flare went up. He stopped walking to watch, a minute passing and then two with no sign that the Herald had reached the trebuchet. He sensed the same thought pass through the rest of the inquisition. Some slowed, waiting to see if the mountain fell, others sped up worrying that there was nothing stopping the army from following them. Four figures came running from the passage they had been led through earlier. A murmur went through the crowd, if the Herald was here then who would fire the trebuchet? Dorian looked more closely realizing the mistake, one of the figures was a scout, volunteered to stay behind and show the Herald the way if he somehow managed to fire the trebuchet and make it back to the Chantry before the mountain fell. Then he heard the echo as snow and rock began to tumble down the mountain. He had done it, a wave of snow hurtled to the town covering it. Then it was gone, a snow bank where the town had been, and no sign of the Herald. The dwarf drew level with him and turned to look back at where Haven had stood,

"Well, shit."

 

* * *

 

The plus side of freezing to death, thought Kalloin as he trudged on through the snow, was that the dried blood that had caked him hours earlier had stopped itching. Mainly because he couldn't feel it anymore. He’d fallen through into a tunnel, the same one the Inquisition had used to escape if the recently lit torches were any indication. He had taken one when he finally emerged only to have the wind whip it out within minutes. Kalloin had a plan, when he had set off from the tunnel rather than just settling down inside and lighting a fire which was seeming to have been a more brilliant plan with every step he took away from it. He had followed the trail of dropped shields and broken wagons that had been overloaded in the attempt to flee and then as they had become scarce he had headed up the mountain. It was possibly the most foolish plan he had ever had.

 

The snow enveloped his legs as he walked unable to go faster than a shuffle. He had tried to summon fire, to do anything but his magic didn't answer pain radiating from the mark whenever he attempted it. He reached the remains of a fire, cooking pot still not buried in snow and was for the first time in his life thankful that Josephine had insisted that he wear boots rather than go barefoot. He couldn't feel his feet but it was better than his fingers which burnt with cold as he fought his way forwards through the snow. Kalloin wasn't sure how much time had passed from the avalanche to him waking, nor from that moment to him standing against a rock face trying to see anything but snow. If he had stars they could point him the right direction, but the sky was dark snow blotting out even the moon.

 

Eventually, Kalloin saw another cooking pot. He was almost on top of it by the time he could see it but there it was, smoke still rising from the embers beneath it. He almost sagged with relief, he was catching up. His clan would be ashamed, tracking a large group of shemlen should not have been this hard, even with the snow erasing every footstep. He pressed forwards even as the wind bustled around him, the snow looked more stomped down so that was now forwards. Something flickered over a mount, yellow dancing against the darkness. He took another step fighting for balance with frozen limbs. Fires, a camp. He’d made it. Even as he heard Cullen shout he fell to his knees exhaustion finally setting in. He fell forwards onto Cassandra who picked him up by the shoulders,

“You did it.” He blinked trying to focus, what had he done this time?

“Let him rest, it is a miracle that he survived.” With that he was led to a tent and a makeshift bed where he promptly lay down and passed out.


	2. On the Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Kalloin doesn't like people singing at him and Dorian finally meets the Herald.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to write this from Kalloin's POV but I started in Dorian's and it just kept going.

Dorian didn't see the Herald until late the next day and even then it was only from a distance. He had been in a tent with Solas for most of the day, stabilizing the mark according to Cullen. The man had sounded doubtful, unsure what he should be saying but then it was more than he had got out of Leliana when he asked if he could help after telling her everything he knew about Redcliffe. The woman had just tilted her head slightly and mentioned that he should consider getting armor for his neck if he was planning on sticking it out. He had retreated quickly uncertain if it had been advice or a threat. Other than that he had spent the day lighting fires in the snow and sitting around. Most of the inquisition ignored him outright, not that he was surprised, word that he was from Tevinter had spread like wildfire through the camp. The dwarf though, he had dropped onto the tree stump next to the fire Dorian had just lit and pulled a book from his coat flicking through it.

“So I hear you’re an evil Tevinter Magister, coming to warn us may not have been the best idea if that's true.” Dorian laughed as he was supposed to, the dwarf was trying to put him at ease at least rather than openly glaring at him,

“The Tevinter part is correct though everyone seems to think that plus being a mage makes me a Magister. I’m not. I like to think I’m not evil either, just incredibly charming.”

“A mage from Tevinter?” a low whistle followed the words, “Fenris would not like that one, if you ever meet him just run before he gets all glowy.” Dorian paused searching his memory, the name seemed familiar,  
“Fenris?”

“He was a slave, has these lyrium markings that let him rip hearts out of people’s chests. Not a big fan of mages either.” The memory clicked into place, Magister Danarius showing off his bodyguard and the scandal when the elf had escaped,

“I have heard of him and his former Master’s experiments. I’d like to think that most of the Imperium wasn't sorry to hear of Danarius' fate, I know I wasn't.” That was true at least, those stories had been whispered more quietly. Danarius’ attempts to recreate Fenris had left horrifying results, blood and screams seemed to be the running theme of what little was actually known as fact.

“Yeah, I saw Hawke take on the Arishok but Broody after tearing that man apart? And Hawke still going to heal him even as he was shouting at her? I almost pissed myself.” Dorian had heard that the Champion of Kirkwall had killed the Arishok of course, everyone had been so eager to tell how a single mage took down the leader of the Qunari warriors, a southern apostate who had never been to a circle. Imagine what the full might of the Magisterium could accomplish should the Qunari ever try to invade. There was silence for a few moments before the dwarf spoke again, apparently unable to sit quietly,

“Mother Giselle is giving out food, you should get some before you get tired and we all freeze to death.”  Dorian smiled and headed for where he assumed he’d find said mother, at least he was on speaking terms with one person on this blasted mountain.

 

Dorian had followed the sound of singing from the edge of the camp. A chantry hymn from the sound of it, though not one he had heard in Tevinter, haunting and solemn. He approached slowly, seeing Varric watching with crossed arms, he nodded towards the fire place in the centre of camp. Dorian stood by him and watched the scene unfolding. The elf stood in his armour, blood still caking his hair and clothes, looking increasingly uncomfortable as what was left of the Inquisition knelt before him still singing. Dorian bit back a smile at his expression, a rabbit that has just turned to see a fox watching it, sheer panic. The other elven mage, Solas approached him quietly and muttered something. The Herald let out a breath and nodded, Dorian watched as he fled after Solas.

“Did Solas do that on purpose?” Varric shrugged,

“Rescue him from the adoring public you mean? Probably not, just whatever Chuckles has found is more important than some humans choosing to worship the poor kid, even if it's just that there's some snow that hasn't been walked on yet.” Dorian watched as the crowd stayed seated, in the snow no less, to listen to Mother Giselle begin to spin talks of struggle from the chant. Trials from the Maker, the Inquisition was ordained, the Herald saved by divine providence. He headed for his tent when she started leading prayers. He believed, but he suspected that any God that did hear them wasn’t going to care if he froze his ass off on a mountainside to in an attempt to thank them.

 

The night passed far too slowly for Dorian. He could cast warming spells and create fire for warmth but the spells died away the second he fell asleep and he woke up cold within minutes. The fourth time it happened he had cursed and pulled a book from his pack. If he couldn't sleep he may as well do something with the time. He didn't manage to open it before he heard muttering outside his tent. He debated leaving them to it, the tent may have been cold but it did keep the wind off him slightly, but his curiosity itched at him until he opened the tent flaps and stuck his head outside. The Herald was talking with Leliana, low voices and lots of looking around. Discussing spying matters then, he had to see what this was about. Any chance he had of overhearing the conversation disappeared as he approached, the woman turned to him with a smile,

“Dorian, I was just telling the Herald what you knew of the Venatori, perhaps you would care to take over? I have much to do to ensure our communication lines remain open following Haven.” So he was being trusted not to kill the Herald, a good sign, given the woman’s earlier comments. Dorian smiled,

“Of course, it is why I hurried out here in the first place. Though now I'm here I should probably offer to stay and help.” The elf nodded to Leliana as she left and turned to Dorian,

“Just don’t start worshipping me, it’s bad enough already.” Dorian smiled, he had been right earlier then. The Herald was not a fan of his new position.

“Of course Herald.” The elf shook his head,

“Please, not you as well. My name is Lavellan, not that anybody seems to know that.”

“Lavellan then. I have to ask why you didn't come to Redcliffe? I would have thought as a mage you would have sought help there first.” The elf hauled himself up to sit on the wagon he had been standing next to and crossed his legs. This close Dorian could almost see his future and it involved the inevitable heartbreak of following after this elf who, having finally washed the blood off was unfairly attractive.

 

His eyes drew Dorian’s gaze without giving him a choice. Dark ink surrounded them covering the lids. The tattoo crossing over his forehead where it was hidden by messy blonde hair before running down his cheeks flicking outwards. A single line over his lip too, running down his chin and neck. Dorian silently chastised himself, he was here to help save the world from an evil cult not moon over an elf. Lavellan shook his head,

“I was trying to get Cassandra to trust me so I went to the Templars first. She says that she believes I didn't cause this mess but every time we disagree I can see her thinking I’m a mage and an elf. I had planned to travel from Therinfal to Redcliffe but suddenly there’s an envy demon and the Empress of Orlais is going to be assassinated and I have to get back to Haven to seal the breach. If I’d known about the Venatori I,” Lavellan stopped to watch a raven swoop in to perch near the desk Leliana had set up, she had apparently convinced the birds to fly through the night. The mark lit with a dim green glow in the silence,

“I want to say I would have gone to Redcliffe and this wouldn't have happened but if I hadn't gone to Therinfal then the Elder one would have Templars. I'm not sure which would be worse. I am sorry though.” Dorian nodded as Lavellan hopped down from the wagon,  
“Yes well, unless that mark lets you travel through time we’ll never know. An envy demon you say, I will have to ask you about that later.” A grimace crossed the elf’s face but he hid it quickly,

“They’re not pleasant. You should sleep, we’re heading out tomorrow for a fortress to the North. If we end up lost in the mountains blame Solas, he gave me the directions.” Dorian smiled,

“No one would blame the elves, you’re travelling with a mage from Tevinter. Someone so much as stubs a toe I can guarantee it was my fault.”

“In that case, I’m glad you’re travelling with us. Makes it less awkward when I mess everything up if they blame you.” The elf was quick. Almost as quick as Dorian but there was something sad in his humour. Dorian watched him head to Leliana to pour over maps. He definitely wasn’t studying Lavellen’s body as he leant over the table to point out a route but from the smile Leliana gave him when she looked up and caught him he may as well have been offering a running commentary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Leliana would find it amusing to use her reputation as a terrifying spymaster to mess with people. Also, Varric would approach Dorian when no one else would because there's someone new to talk to about Hawke. Next update should be Kalloin POV when they reach Skyhold, he's so very thrilled about being Inquisitor. You can tell because he's shaking with excitement.


	3. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kalloin gets made inquisitor and has a request for Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% happy with it yet but if I spent as much time as I wanted to making it perfect I'd never get to write the next chapter. So here it is, I might make a few changes to it when I post the next chapter but that will just be grammar or little word choices that are annoying me.  
> There's a bit of Elvhen in there which I cobbled together as best I could from here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/359253/chapters/582281

They were up to something. Kalloin had known it the second he stepped outside. Leliana, Cullen and Josephine stood with Cassandra all talking quickly. That wasn’t too unusual but the look they all gave him before wandering off as Cassandra beckoned him over was too reassuring to be genuine. Something bad had happened and he was about to hear about it. Nothing urgent though, they hadn't woken him as they had when the scouts found a rift on their path to Skyhold. He stepped down into the courtyard over fallen stone and planks of wood that were already being gathered to make repairs. Skyhold was much larger than Haven, and the walls would stand against a dragon. The air was still cold but shielded from the winds it was much more tolerable. He’d even accepted the clothes Josephine had handed him the previous night and dressed in them this morning. Thick and soft, no armour though, or a place to put a weapon. ‘More acceptable for speaking with guests’ she had said. Cullen was still allowed to wear his armor of course, no one would bat an eye if the Commander chose to always be ready for battle; but the Herald, he needed to be _civilized_. Why she was already inviting various nobles when they hadn’t even begun to make sure the main structure was sound and not going to collapse around them Kalloin didn't understand. Cassandra was smiling at him as he reached her, he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say. Whatever it was she seemed to be putting off saying it, making idle conversation as she led him towards the Keep.

“Why do I feel like I’m walking to my death?” Cassandra said nothing but slowed slightly as he reached the steps, walking behind him so he couldn't change course. Leliana stood at the top of them with a sword balanced carefully on her hands. He approached slowly, not liking where this seemed to be going.

 

The rest happened in a heartbeat, or a dozen of Kalloin’s which was trying it's best to escape his chest frantically pounding against his ribcage. Cassandra announcing that he was to be the Inquisitor, Josephine and Cullen saying something. Then Leliana offered him the sword, they couldn't make him take it could they? A glance back to Cassandra said they could and they would do if need be.

“Just lift it up and say something inspirational.” Leliana spoke quietly as he took the sword trying to remember to breathe. Something inspirational? _I will collapse even more mountains_ or _I haven’t accidentally killed anybody yet_? He looked at the sword, it shined no marks anywhere, obviously not for actually fighting with then. And why a sword, Kalloin had a vague idea that he could swing it if he needed to but a staff would have been far more useful. He glanced up to see Cullen raise his eyebrows slightly, he had been stood looking at the weapon for too long. The heat flooded his cheeks, less than a minute and he was already messing this up. A breath out,  
“Corypherus tried to kill us all at Haven, he won’t stop unless we make him.” He held the sword up and the small crowd cheered. Maybe it wasn’t too late, he could speak to Leliana, explain that he was more than happy to help with everything, but being in charge wasn’t his thing. He let the sword fall back to his side and turned around,

“You ambushed me with this.”

“Of course we did, you wouldn't have accepted otherwise.” Leliana’s tone was light, joking but she was right. If they had mentioned their intentions before he was stood in front of everybody they would have needed to drag him here.

“It’s a terrible idea, I can’t be in charge. What if I mess everything up?” He meant to whisper it but his words carried farther than intended. Cassandra shook her head,

“You decisions led us here, they've saved lives.” Kalloin shook his head, in defeat. This would not end well.

 

It was two days since Hawke had left for Crestwood before Skyhold was functioning well enough to permit him to leave. Scout Harding’s report had mentioned undead which, knowing his luck, would mean someone had found a way to make the rifts even more deadly. Still, they had a necromancer now if Dorian was willing to travel with them. He had said he would stay and help and had pointed them at several other Magisters that were part of the Venatori but besides giving them names for Leliana to track down, the man had holed up in the library organizing the books Josephine had ordered with the few that had been salvaged from Haven. Kalloin had meant to check in with Dorian earlier but he was always nose deep in a dusty tome sprawled over the ridiculously extravagant chair that Kalloin suspected had originally be bound for Josephine’s office when he passed through to speak with Leliana in the Rookery above. He bound up the steps to find Dorian stood at a bookcase leafing through a book. The man’s moustache twitched with his expression as he read. Engrossed as usual, Kalloin approached slowly wondering how to interrupt the man. Apparently he wasn’t as quiet as he thought, Dorian looked up with a smile.

“Ah, I was beginning to think the Lord Inquisitor had forgotten there was a Tevinter in his library.”

“Ir abalas, I'm sorry. I meant to speak to you before but I didn't want to interrupt your reading and everybody wants my opinion on durgen, sorry stone, as if I know how to build an an’shal’aan.” The elvhen slipped in without his permission and he winced as the syllables escaped him. He knew how to say castle, just, not when flustered trying to talk to the overly handsome man in front of him. It only got worse as Dorian chuckled, seemingly amused at Kalloin’s apology.

“Oh you are adorable. It’s quite alright, I've seen you running around doing one thing after another for everyone. You're here now though, was there something you wanted?” Kalloin wanted to disappear, he almost fade stepped out of the library as the words left Dorian’s mouth. _Adorable_ , fumbling and awkward and adorable like a baby halla. Not an adult who was supposed to be in charge of what was rapidly becoming an army. He glanced around the library, it was fine, he could ask and then leave. He started talking words speeding away from him.

“We’re heading to Crestwood mahvir, ar nuven ma halani, it would be fenedhis!”

 

Dorian watched in amusement as the Inquisitors words sped away in elvhen. He almost cut in to point out that he didn't understand but that would have required Lavellan to take a breath which, as far as Dorian could tell, he wasn’t going to do. Eventually the words ended as the elf’s eyes landed back on Dorian and he stopped abruptly mouth slightly open and red flooding his cheeks. Dorian chuckled,

“You lapse in to elven quite a bit don’t you?” Lavellan ducked his head slightly and looked away guiltily,

“Ma abalas. My clan spoke elvhen unless we were trading with shemlen, I didn’t even do that since the human traders didn't like mages. I try to remember but with everything going on it’s elvarel.” Lavellan frown slightly and in a smaller voice he corrected himself, “It’s more effort.”

 Dorian reached a hand forward for the elf’s shoulder but stopped short and Lavellan tensed at the movement. He lowered the arm slowly, no the Dalish elf wouldn't want to be touched. He didn't even want to be here. He was always looked like he was worried or terrified, dark shadows mirrored his inked eyelids and hung heavily below Lavellan’s eyes. Skittish and not sleeping, what had possessed the inquisition that they thought he should be the Inquisitor? Herald was understandable, walking out of the fade and closing rifts would get anybody a reputation, but the elf wasn’t really a leader.

 

“You got rather dropped into this whole mess didn’t you?” Dorian let out a sigh and a soft smile, “I got that you’re going to Crestwood though from there you could have been trying to turn me into a tree for all I know.”

“Turn you into a tree _inside_ my castle? Josephine would complain about the impression it gives,” Lavellan’s eyebrows rose slightly and a smirk crossed his mouth as the elf seemed to relax slightly, “apparently the stories about Dalish aren’t entirely accurate?”

“Not accurate? You mean there’s no moonlight orgies? What was the point in me coming south then?” Lavellan looked confused for a minute before shaking his head slightly. No blush though, a shame though probably for the best, the pink tinge on the elf’s cheeks set of his tattoos giving them an almost purple tint. Dorian chastised himself silently, the man was already overwhelmed, being flirted with would probably make him combust, or run away. Either way it wasn’t particularly fair.

 They stood in silence for a few more seconds, Dorian’s joke ignored completely as Lavellan began to speak again,

“I came to see if you would be willing to come to Crestwood to help seal a rift there.” The slow speech made sense now, he was picking the words, unfamiliar with the language, “There are a lot of undead in the area, Leliana told me you are a necromancer.” Dorian crossed his arms tucking the book he had been reading back into the shelf,

“Somebody wants a necromancer with them? Will the wonders never cease?” He received a smile that time,

“Apparently not. I thought it might be some kind of blood magic mixing with the rift, I thought maybe you would be able to tell?”

“Ah yes, I am after all from Tevinter so I must be a blood mage.” Dorian sniffed dramatically, “We don’t all practice blood magic in the North you know. I don’t for one.” Lavellan’s eyes widened and he froze for a second, there was a glint of green in them. Dorian took the opportunity to study them more closely. He had been correct, the light blue irises had a ring of the same dark green ink around them. The elf’s tattoos extended onto his eyes.

“Ir abalas! I didn’t mean, shit” the elf pushed his hair back eyes frantic before he started to speak again arms moving in wild gestures. “I mean you would recognize it better than I and may know how to fight it. If it is blood magic.” Dorian laughed slightly,

“I’m not offended, you haven’t spat at me and called me Magister scum yet.” The anger that crossed Lavellan's face was not what Dorian had expected,

“Who said that?” A different tone too, lower and more certain. Dorian waved his hand dismissing the matter,

“The blacksmith, it’s no concern I’ve been called much worse.” Lavellan nodded eyes still hard,

“I’ll get Leliana to speak to him. You’re here to help, you shouldn't have to put up with that.” Dorian's filed away Lavellan's sudden determination, for a man who was apologising for rightly guessing that Dorian would know about blood magic he was more than happy to intervene for a few insults flung by a blacksmith. 

"Thank you."

 

Lavellan looked like he wanted to say something but instead muttered a quick 'goodbye' before heading up the stairs to speak with Leliana. A hilarious conversation if the echoing laughs were genuine. It was a few hours later, once the elf's quiet chuckles had died down and the library had emptied that Dorian noticed the woman leaning over the railing watching him from the floor above. 

"Surely you have more interesting things to watch than my reading." Leliana smiled slightly,

"Oh I have. I just felt you should consider that a Dalish elf wouldn't have much need to know what an orgy was in the common tongue." Dorian was hit by two feelings. The first was the rapid relief that the elf hadn't completely ignored the joke. The second was that Leliana had heard their whole conversation. Time to retire for the night, especially if he was heading out at whatever ungodly hour they were to set off for Crestwood. Perfectly reasonable and he definitely wasn't running away from Leliana.

"Yes I hadn't considered that. Goodnight." The woman nodded as he turned for the stairs,

"Oh, and Dorian?" he paused, a sinking feeling before she even spoke the words, "I explained what certain words meant, in case you feel like making any more jokes." Dorian ran down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we get to Cresetwood and get to see Kalloin feeling a little less like a Halla caught in headlights.


	4. Crestwood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Go to Crestwood to meet a Warden and end up sealing a Rift and taking a keep. All while Dorian complains about the weather.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So massive delay in this chapter, hopefully the next one will be out within a week or two. It's exam season for me so while I know what I want to happen in each chapter actually sitting and typing it out takes time. Especially when I'm trying to do so in coherent sentences. If you spot any typos or obvious errors please let me know I tried to catch them all but this has been sitting on my laptop 3/4 done for a while now and I really wanted to just upload it.  
> Anyway on to Crestwood.

Dorian wasn't sure what he had expected when they finally arrived at the Inquisition camp at Crestwood. Certainly not for the Inquisitor to give them ten minutes to grab food before they dealt with a rift nearby. Dorian hadn't had chance to dry off, not that it mattered with the constant downpour seeping though to his skin giving the wind a bitter edge that no amount of cursing was going to help. He hadn't had a chance to actually speak with Lavellan, the elf preferring to scout ahead and leave markers for the majority of their journey through Fereldan. Sera had shrugged off his concerns pointing out that he was just being 'elfy and weird', which given Varric's agreement was normal. He had met them a few miles before they reached Crestwood, though from what Dorian could gather from his few words it was mostly to show them a shortcut. Through a river, a cave and what Dorian could only assume had once been a cabin.

It had also meant that he hadn't been forced to share a tent as Sera didn't want to have a mage in her tent, later questioning revealed the Inquisitor didn't count because he was 'not into all that weird shit with demons' but Varric had still admirably agreed to share with her in case Dorian became possessed and tried to attack them. There was at least a hint of a joking tone as Varric had offered, apparently he wasn't actually expected to become an abomination every time somebody sneezed. That had left Dorian bunking with the Inquisitor, or at least with the pack that would be left by a fire pit wherever they were camping that night.

Still it appeared their illustrious leader would be joining them for the actual rift closing. He had stood chatting to scout Harding while they had eaten, glancing occasionally at the green mist rising from the lake.  Water dripped from Lavellan's face but seemed to go unnoticed even as his hair clung to his skin. Was he really that impervious to the weather?

"So Sparkler, travelling with us everything you hoped it would be?" Dorian turned to look at Varric, his ministrations forgotten,

"Sparkler? Really?" The dwarf shrugged, leaving Dorian to sigh before answering his question, "Yes, when I left the luxury of the Imperium I could barely wait to be drown in what passes for weather in this abysmal country. Not to mention my relief that our heroic leader is more than content to stand around in it and even go for a wander rather than seeking shelter."

"Ah go easy on Rabbit, he's not good at being cooped up in Skyhold."

"You're nickname for the Inquisitor is Rabbit?" Varric nodded and Dorian looked back to the elf currently twirling his staff absentmindedly flicking water under the few covered areas of the camp with every swing and felt slightly uneasy.

"Is that not," Dorian tried in vain to fix his hair, another victim of the downpour, while searching for a better word, "a bit offensive?" Varric actually laughed,

"Ah I knew someone would call me on it! Rabbit!" The Inquisitor spun to face them and then actually bounded over as Varric beckoned him. Lavellan looked more alive than he had when Dorian had seen him at Skyhold, less tired. A feeling pulled in Dorian's stomach, as he received an easy smile. Varric pulled out a flask lifting it towards his mouth, "Sparkler wants to know why I call you Rabbit."  The smile on Lavellan's face changed into a grin promising mischief. It disappeared quickly, a solemn look taking over the elf's features,

"Secretly everyone in the Inquisition hates elves. They just keep me around because I'm pretty."

"I, see." Dorian was lost, a blatant lie, his confusion must have shown a second later Lavellan burst out laughing and shook his head,

"It's a play on my name. Sort of, I gave up on the translation when Josephine asked me what my name meant." Lavellan brushed a hand through his hair leaving blonde spikes sticking up in the air, water holding them in place. "Plus my ears are really big at twitchy. So it fits. Anyway hurry up, rifts to close worlds to save." With that he hurried off to talk to a scout who was consulting a map.

"Quizzy's less jumpy out here, he likes all the grass and shite." Dorian glanced to Sera as she stood up, "Anyway he seems to trust you right? So don't ruin it for him or you'll get an arrow up your arse."

"And how would I ruin it for him? I doubt any amount of fire could get rid of grass this wet." Sera pulled a face and called after Lavellan as she approached him bow in hand. Dorian shook his head as he followed.

 

They had a Keep. Dorian looked back at the doorway as they left Caer Bronach, the door hadn't survived their assault intact. Somewhere between killing wolves, sealing rifts and personally handling every tiny problem anybody living around the lake had, Lavellan had taken a Keep, drained a lake, killed a wyvern and headed off to seal the damn rift. Dorian hadn't gone along for that last part, after he had confirmed that it was neither a necromancer nor blood magic, Lavellan had sent for Iron Bull and Cole, apparently helping to set up another camp in the area, to assist him at getting to the rift. Dorian could see the reasoning, somebody had to be up front to take the bulk of the attacks and Dorian would much rather it not be him.

Instead he had been sent back to the village to make sure they were safe during the attack with Varric, the dwarf seemingly on his own mission to convince Dorian to worship Hawke.

"As interesting as she clearly is, I don't understand why she's here. Didn't you say she and the elf, were near Tevinter somewhere?" Varric chuckled, the gate they stood under did little to help with the rain which was somehow blowing sideways but it was something to lean on. Dorian leant back arms crossing as he listened to Varric's tales.

"Yeah hunting down slavers. Broody is pissed she didn't bring him. He's probably on his way actually, not sure how this was a surprise for him. Any trouble and Hawke will be in the middle of it. Should have seen her and Rabbit, left them alone for five minutes and when I came back she was telling the poor guy about breaking into the circle at Kirkwall and giving him tips on pissing Cullen off."

"The Inquisitor wants to annoy our dear Commander?" The shock in his voice was false but Dorian was genuinely curious. It had become increasingly clear that the Inquisitor wasn't quite the quiet apologetic figure he appeared,

"Andraste's tits, you haven't noticed? The guy might be good at closing rifts and whatever else out here but in Skyhold it took him two hours to decide whether to send scouts or soldiers to the Fallow Mire."

"I had noticed he's slightly less confident most of the time." Varric laughed shaking his head,

"He worries about his decision a lot. Curly wants him to be a leader all the time, like he is out here and not spend so much time thinking through every potential option. There's a book running on when the Commander actually raises his voice outside the War Room." Dorian raised an eyebrow,

"Taking bets that the Inquisitor's advisor loses it seems somewhat treacherous." Varric shrugged,

"Inquisitor has 5 gold that Curly snaps before we head to Halamshiral. Why do you think he was asking Hawke about it?"

"The Inquisitor," began Dorian, how ridiculous the idea sounded clear in his head, "is trying to get the Commander of our forces angry enough to shout at him? Why?" Varric shrugged,

"Mentioned something about bottling it all up not being good for Curly. You want in? Two to one he manages it before we find out what's going on with the Wardens." Dorian shrugged as a rumble came from the lake and the green mist dispersed,

"Why not? Lavellan does everything else he sets his mind to. Apart from translating his name it seems." Varric shook his head as people approached to see the waters calming,

"His name is Kalloin, Lavellan is the name of his clan. Honestly, you could probably call him just about anything and he wouldn't care, as long as it wasn't Inquisitor." Dorian inclined his head slightly,

"He's not a fan of Herald either." Varric chuckled,

"You should have seen him when the whole Herald shit started, he spent days trying to tell everybody that he wasn't a Herald. I didn't have the heart to tell him that the more he denied it the more they believed, he spent a week with his ears drooping."

"Poor Rabbit surrounded by hunters. Pupils wide, nowhere to run. Needs his antlers." Cole materialized beside Varric, head tilted,

"He asked me to find you. They're heading back to the Keep. Wet and waiting, need to apologize. They should rest." Dorian looked to Varric,

"Has the Rabbit thought of setting Cole on the Commander? No need to wait for us all to die that way." The boy turned to him,

"Humor to block the hurt. Bright and shining," Varric patted the boy's arm silencing him,

"Alright kid, save it for when we're somewhere warm. That's why you're here right?" Cole nodded,

"It sounds better now, the song has stopped but the water remembers." Dorian sighed as he followed the pair up to the Keep. At least he would be dry soon.

 

Kalloin sat on the walls of the Keep watching the lake as the sun rose. It had finally stopped raining late into the previous night and while he would never admit it while Dorian was in hearing distance, he was glad it had finally stopped raining. He had sent word back to Skyhold when they took the Keep but had still been surprised when Charter showed up soon after they had returned from closing the rift and had begun to organize the towers and courtyards into a usable base of operations. That hadn't included clearing out rooms for sleeping quarters yet, though Charter has assured him that Josephine was working on it. Still, camping inside the stone walls had provided shelter from the worst of the weather and a quick trip to the town had provided them with more blankets and firewood than they would have been able to carry otherwise.

 

Tempting as it would have been to remain a few more days to see the Inquisition properly establish the Keep and help to rebuild the town he had already been informed of a situation developing somewhere in Orlais that he would need to deal with when he returned to Skyhold. Kalloin had been hoping to be heading back by now but Bull had found a cask somewhere the previous night and his companions were still sleeping as Leliana's agents hurried around their tents. Kalloin shook his head remembering their antics, and glanced to the empty flask beside him. They would probably appreciate a few restoration potions to recover from whatever they had moved onto drinking after the cask had run out and he had retreated to his tent. Then again, they would move more slowly if they were still recovering from the alcohol which meant longer away from Skyhold. Kalloin ducked his head slightly, then straightened up and glanced around. No one had seen his silent guilty apology; probably a good thing, talking to himself wasn't likely to earn their people's trust and respect.

 

As the morning wore on, no one seeming to need him for anything in particular Kalloin found his thoughts drifting to the previous night. Dorian had asked him a little about the Dalish and questioned how Kalloin felt about him being from Tevinter. Kalloin wasn't sure what the motivation behind the questions had been but whatever it was seemed to be weighing heavily on the man after Varric had rambled though a story about Fenris and his hatred of shoes. Kalloin had assured Dorian that it wouldn't be an issue that he was from Tevinter, and he hoped that he meant it. It wasn't something that he had put much thought into, if Templars could be envy demons and spirits could exist in physical form then who was to say that a Magister couldn’t be a decent person? The few conversations he'd had with the man had been pleasant enough, if intimidating to speak to somebody do self-assured. Cole hadn't said anything worrying about their group's latest acquisition either, though Kalloin hadn't had the courage to speak about Dorian to the spirit either. Or anybody else for that matter, he could hardly look in the man's direction without blushing, let alone discuss him with anybody else. Something that Dorian had no problem pointing out, Creators it was infuriating. Kalloin knew attractive people, but Dorian wielded his looks as a weapon with a smug smile and the twitch on an eyebrow that said he knew exactly what affect he had on people. Kalloin leaned back against the tower that rose out of the wall next to him and turned his attention back to the letters he had received from Skyhold through the night from Leliana and as the night turned to morning Josephine and Cullen.

 

Lavellan was still sat there a few hours later when Dorian having given up on sleeping through the constant noise of Leliana's agents trading secrets around the tents pushed himself out onto the battlements looking for something to take away the pain in his head. The elf was perched on the wall with his arms wrapped around one leg while the other dangled freely. Staring off into the distance he seemed completely unaware of everybody else in the Keep, not even looking round when Bull let out a shout from the courtyard. All it would have taken was an enemy agent to sneak up and give him a push and all their chances against Corypheus would be gone. Dorian shook his head and took a step closer. Lavellan's head shot round to see who was there, one hand reaching round to grasp his staff from where it stood against the wall. Not quite so oblivious then.

"Dorian," a wide smile spread across the elf's face, "survived drinking with Bull I see." There was something in the elf's voice as if he was trying to force himself to be calm.

"Yes though somebody should inform my head, it's not used to drinking swill you see."

"You've not made it to the tavern in Skyhold yet, I'm told Cabot is at least trying to improve the stuff they serve there."

"Happily I located your wine cellar just as my own supplies ran out. Fortunate really, I would hate to spend Inquisition resources on tracking down a decent vintage." Lavellan rolled his eyes,

"You realize Josephine passes on the requests she receives to me? What was the one you wanted? Agree oh palli," The syllables tripped from Lavellan's mouth making Doran shake his head,

"Aggegio Pavali, I haven't had any since I was last in Tevinter, difficult to find this far south but I was hoping our ambassador had some connections." Lavellan swung himself round to stand on the battlements picking up his staff, and walking back towards the courtyard, for a second Dorian thought he was being dismissed before the elf spoke up again, more settled than he had been as Dorian approached,

"She said it was incredibly pretentious and not a priority when we were still arranging the guest accommodation for visiting nobles." Dorian tried not to let the disappointment show, he knew it had been a long shot,

"A shame, any noble who tried it would happily pledge their first born to the cause for a second glass." Lavellan glanced back eyebrows raised,

"Really? A good thing I told her to get a crate of it then." Dorian paused midstep, "It was supposed to be a thank you for coming to Crestwood to help but if it is truly as good as you say I guess I should keep it for actual Inquisition matters."

"No, we can't have that. Start providing it to guests and they'll be rioting to demand you give them more. I had better take it off your hands, save you the trouble of dealing with it." Lavellan smiled at him knowingly,

"A good plan, I'll have them delivered to your room when we return to Skyhold."

"You could join me for a bottle some time, if you like." Dorian forced his face to remain neutral has he made the comment. Off-hand, more casual than he felt, make Lavellan know he didn't care if the other man didn't want to spend time with him. A mistake clearly, wide blue eyes fixed on him startled. Dorian almost laughed at the reaction, he hadn't seen the look of fear on the elf's face since they left Skyhold and all it had taken for it to return was the invitation to join him for a drink. Dorian had been correct in his judgement the previous night, Lavellan was embarrassed that he found Dorian attractive. Hardly a surprise but a part of Dorian, the same one responsible for most of his terrible ideas no doubt, found himself pleased by that idea.

To the Inquisitor’s credit, he recovered almost instantly, a grin forming as they reached the main group,

"Ma serannas, I'd like that." Dorian gave a nod as Lavellan headed for Sera and Varric and tried to promise himself that his goal wasn't slowly morphing into something distinctly elf shaped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter fine wines shall be drunk and Lavellan will find himself in possession of a letter. We may get to Redcliffe depending on how much time I spend writing rather than working.


	5. Letters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and Kalloin drink, and letters are exchanged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got away from me. A lot. I blame exams stressing me out and Solas for deciding to interrupt. Also Dorian was being flirty and it was quite fun to write.  
> There's a fair bit of elven in here which I'll give translations for at the bottom. Most of it is variations on a theme really and you don't need to actually follow what is being said, for the most part if Lavellan is speaking Elven then it's Dorian POV.  
> I've started using FenxShiral's elven lexicon for phrases etc. since it expands the vocabulary so much, that's here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/229061

Dorian was shocked when the note arrived from the Inquisitor. True, it was hardly unusual for him to send notes to all corners of Skyhold with orders, ideas or just general musings about what had been going on while he had been held up by planning with the War Council. What was out of the ordinary was that the note appeared to have been penned by the Inquisitor himself, that or a drunken chicken it was hard to tell, black ink scratched across the surface in an unpractised manner. 'Dorian, expensive wine in my quarters later?' Lavellan hadn't worried to sign his name and the runner was one of the girls from the kitchen's rather than an actual messenger. She looked nervous as Dorian scanned the note, hardly surprising given that she had been in possession of said note for half the day without managing to deliver it.

"He gave it to me as I was delivering lunch to the War Room, I didn't know who he meant. Do you need me to take a reply? Only the cook will shout if I'm late back, even if it was for the Herald." Dorian glanced up at her, making her step back slightly. Ah, he was still the evil Magister from Tevinter then,

"No. I should think I can manage to wave down a runner if I do need to." He folded the noted carefully into the book, it was definitely later by now, "thank you for this." The girl nodded eagerly,

"Of course Ser Dorian." Then she fled. Dorian shook his head, calling him that in Minrathous would have been a grave insult. He would have needed to insist on a duel for proprieties state. Here it was the most respectful title he'd been addressed by, outside of what most of Skyhold had dubbed the Inner Circle, something in which Dorian had somehow found himself included.

 

 

"My, now what did that report do to earn you ire?" Kalloin looked up startled, apparently he hadn't heard the door open or Dorian ascend the stairs to watch him as he had stabbed the paper before him with a letter opener. He smiled slightly at the man's presence before remembering why the mage had turned up,

"You got my note then? If you're busy I'd understand but Josephine said the wine you wanted had arrived, I thought," he trailed off at Dorian's grin,

"You're note did cover the basics yes, though you didn't indicate what time you expected me. I can return later if you'd prefer, though you do look like you could use a drink." Kalloin glanced at the pile of papers on his desk,

"I," he paused, remembering the promise he had made to Josephine that he would get through the reports that night, "need to finish going through these reports" his voice trailed off slightly. Dorian crossed his arms, something danced across his grey eyes disappointment perhaps? Kalloin couldn't tell,

"As I understand it you have been holed up in here dealing with these reports since they let you leave the War Council. Surely the Inquisitor is allowed an evening off?"

Kalloin felt his ears twitched slightly, he _had_ invited Dorian here before heading to the War Council and having the latest batch of reports dumped on the desk. Even if he worked through the night they wouldn't be finished. Not to mention the book on Orlesian etiquette that Josephine had bid he read and Mother Giselle had wanted him to visit her in the gardens. Perhaps he could leave skip the book and just pretend he had forgotten everything when he was asked about it later. A sigh drew his attention back to the mage in his room,

"Perhaps not, I apologize for disturbing you then." Dorian offered a sad smile before turning to leave,

"Wait," his unmarked hand came up before he realized what he was doing, he dropped it quickly,

"Dorian wait. You're right, I," Kalloin shook his head and stood from his desk, "Ma serrannas, you're right of course. I am supposed to be in charge around here, let's find that wine."

 

 

 Lavellan it turned out, was not well versed in drinking. They were barely through half a bottle before a red glow appeared over his cheeks. Dorian listened as Lavellan ranted about the nobles that Josephine sent his way, the most ridiculous Orlesian accent Dorian had ever heard escaping the man's lips in between smatterings of elvish.

"Why my der Inquisitah, why iz it that you call yourself 'erald din longuh? Fenedhis lasa. Emma tel'him shemlen sule'nuvenin." Lavellan spun bottle in hand before dropping onto a sitting chair before drinking deeply from the bottle, "Abalas falon. I got carried away there." Dorian chuckled,

"Well I guessed that from the cursing," A smile spread across Lavellan's face as he closed his eyes the dark green tattoos of his eyelids appearing hollow. He rocked slightly, the pale figure and dark markings appearing as a mockery making a haunting expression play across his face,

"My keeper used to tell me that I could out curse anyone at the Arlathvehn, gave it a good go last time I was there. Harellan for someone else's lathbora." The last phrase brought an odd look to Lavellan's face.

"You may have to help me here, some of us don't speak elvish after all." Lavellan raised his eyelids gaze levelling at Dorian, a mix of amusement and annoyance,

"It's Elven." The elf sighed before unfolding himself and walking across to Dorian, even drunk, and there was no doubt that the Inquisitor was truly drunk, Lavellan seemed to flow across the floor, arms beating through the air to counterbalance the swaying his drinking had brought. Of course the man would make drunken stumbling look like dancing. Still, he made it to the sofa where Dorian sat without falling or dropping the wine bottle, mostly empty following Lavellan's ranting. Dorian took it when offered, pouring himself another glass, wondering if the elf would be able to direct him to another bottle.

 

"Elven then, I still have no idea what it is you said."

"Which bit? The cursing? The Arlathvehn?" Dorian nodded and watched as Lavellan danced his way back across the room and pulled a bottle from his desk. Not wine but it looked to be at least as strong, Lavellan struggled with the lid on his way back before lowering himself into the seat next to Dorian closer than propriety would allow but nothing scandalous.

"The second one, I've heard mention of it before, one of the books on the Dalish."

"It means for love of the people, the elvhen. It's a meeting, of the clans. Not a meeting, we talk, dance, trade." Lavellan finally opened the bottle before taking a swing and coughing,

"Creators that burns,"

"Whiskey? Most would choose to sip it rather than gulp the stuff from a bottle." He was answered with a roll of Lavellan's eyes,

"I'll ask my Keeper to send some whiskey that the clan have made, doesn't taste like fire. I was supposed to go with another clan, we had a second and my younger sister she had the gift but was too young, ir bel, too many with the gift in one clan it's not." the elf paused and took another swig of the whiskey, wincing one again,

"We had too many mages, some clans had none so we move to them to make sure there is always a Keeper. My sister was supposed to leave. She was too young so I was to go instead. There was an argument, I had to leave."

"The Arlathvehn?" Dorian noticed how bad his pronunciation was even as the word left his mouth, the syllables strange in his mouth. Lavellan shrugged and looked away,

"The Arlathvehn, the clan I was supposed to go to. Enough trouble other Keepers, len'alas lath'din." He glanced away from Dorian, "they didn't want me."

"You had to leave your clan?"

"I had to do that anyway, but after Mithlyn there wasn't a clan that I could go to."

"I thought your clan sent you to the Conclave?"

 

Dorian hadn't meant to ask that question, there were a dozen others he had that were more important. Who was Mithlyn? What had happened that was so dire to make Lavellan such an outcast? What in Thedas does a Dalish mage do when he has no clan and doesn't know enough common tongue to talk to the humans?

"They did. I went back to them when the Circle's rebelled, it was not safe to be without them. They still needed me to leave though, too much," another pause, "angry memories?" he asked questioningly seeming to test the words as he said them. Lavellan's hand came up and pushed his hair up in a spikey mess to scratch at the small scar that cut through on of his eyebrows, Dorian noticed a second scar that lay under the stem of Lavellan's tattoo on the same side. A third almost matched it on the other side. The marks were old and healed, definitely from before the breach then. The slight kink in what would otherwise be a ridiculously straight nose and the scar to the side of it seemed more recent. Especially as the green ink slipped at the same point deviating from the fine straight line the design had no doubt originally dictated. Dorian traced the line down the elf's face without realizing it and came to rest on the green strip that started on Lavellan's lower lip and trailed down below his collar.

 

"There was still a lot of resentment from other clans, the Keeper couldn't let me stay. I was sent to spy on the Conclave while she worked out what to do." Dorian blinked and leant back slightly, he had been staring. Blatantly staring, potentially even ogling. Not that Lavellan had noticed, the elf yawned deeply, looking like he was about to curl up and fall asleep.

"So rather than being the beloved Dalish First, set to lead your clan and separated by this whole mess, you've been exiled since before that mess at the White Spire? My, Josephine has done a brilliant job in tidying that little detail away."

"She wanted to play it up actually, that I had left years ago. Apparently the idea of one lone elf wandering the forests is less terrifying that there being groups of us."

 

Another yawn, "Ir abalas, Dorian." Dorian let out a small smile,

"You should be, it's not often I have attractive men falling asleep while talking to me." Dorian caught Lavellan's eyes as they bolted to him in surprise, he continued, "I must say this has rather put a dent in my self esteem, usually people try to seduce me when they invite me to their rooms for wine." A blush was rising over the elf's face at speed, it seemed to reach his ears as Lavellan took another gulp of whiskey. Dorian sighed in disappointment, almost strictly theatrical, "unless of course there was something else you wanted?" That did it, Lavellan spluttered slightly, coughing as he tried not to choke on the whiskey he had been drinking.

"Emma ir, I mean, isalan pala na, shit. I am sorry if you thought," Dorian almost felt bad as the elf stumbled through the apology. Almost. There was something altogether too adorable in the way that even Lavellan's ears seemed to drop when he felt guilty for Dorian to regret making the elf so flustered. Lavellan shook his head seemingly frustrated with himself.

"I mean I do, isalan ma pala ara avin. Wait no that's elven, I want you to. I mean, mar palasha, mar veraisa clearly but," Dorian couldn't help the grin forming on his face. Even as Lavellan tripped over every word in sight Dorian could hear the meaning, he hadn't been wrong picking up on the looks from the elf, there was interest. The constant blushing gave him away almost as surely as the responses he gave when Dorian actually tried to flirt. Lavellan took a breath and closed his eyes, "Sorry, I mean to say that you're very attractive but I did just invite you here to drink wine and talk tonight." Dorian grinned,

"Tonight? So next time I can expect more?" Dorian expected more blushing and stammering but instead Lavellan looked up at him seemingly overwhelmed,

"Please just, stop? This would be bad enough if I knew how to say what I'm trying to. This is humiliating." Dorian stopped laughing and reached for the elf, pulling him forwards even as Lavellan protested and tensed,

"I'm not going to try anything. I just felt like I should apologize for pushing you there. I got slightly carried away." Eventually he managed to settle his arms around Lavellan who was half curled into his chest. "I do tend to be rather direct about these things as you may have noticed."  A nod against his chest. Dorian brushed his hand through blonde hair and sighed, "I think maybe I should leave. We're both drunk and I doubt I'm going to get you to translate what you said any time soon, am I right?" Lavellan pulled away nodding,

"I think maybe if you leave before I manage to embarrass myself in two languages that would be good. Isalan ava ma’davin lavar dirthan su em." Lavellan stood up and carried the whiskey back to his desk before pausing, "maybe next time I won't drink quite as much?" Dorian smiled as he stood,

"That sounds terribly dull but if you insist. Goodnight Lavellan."

"Dar’eth, Dorian. Goodnight."

 

Dorian left fairly quickly, as much as he had mocked the Inquisitor for it, and received what had started as a truly wonderful response, he was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol himself and his bed was looking like his best option. Varric was still sat by the fire in the main hall, he let out a whistle and waved Dorian over. Apparently he had been relegated to being summoned like a trained animal now. Varric looked concerned as Dorian approached, almost guilty,

"You know a Magister name of Maevaris Tilani?" Dorian looked at the dwarf in surprise, he had expected a comment about the Inquisitor, Corypherus, maybe even the bottle of Antivan brandy he had borrowed from Cabot the previous day.

"Yes, Mae's a friend from Qarinus. Helping out squashing support for the Venatori in the Magisterium last I hear. Why do you ask?" Dorian sat down, slightly alarmed at the tangent his night had taken. Varric pulled a wedge of papers from inside his jacket and began to rifle through them,

"She was married to my cousin Thorold before he died. Anyway she sent me a letter a while back asking if she could get support from the Merchant's Guild to slow her enemies’ lyrium supplies. That was a few months ago, since then, well you poke a viper's nest." He handed Dorian a small pile of envelopes, a quick glance revealed the Tilani seal on all of them. "Red's waiting in the rookery but I figured you would want to know what's been going on before speaking to her about it."

 

***

 

Dorian approached the night guards at the door leading to the Inquisitor's tower slowly, Leliana had insisted on them after Lavellan had helpfully suggested a rather too colourful method for a visiting ambassador to remove his head from the Chantries arse. If the senior Mothers of the Chantry didn't take offense than the ambassador surely would. Josephine had, from what Dorian had pieced together from the servants gossip, forged the Inquisitor's signature on a letter of apology to the poor man after Lavellan had refused to do so himself. He pulled the letters Varric had given him from his robes with a flourish. It wasn't obscenely late when he had left earlier that night but this was definitely straying from acceptable socializing hours, even without the extra scrutiny that his homeland gave him.

"I have urgent business with the Inquisitor, it's"

"Of course, he instructed us that you were to be allowed in at any hour." Dorian paused feeling uneasy,

"Really?" The guard nodded eyes flickered as he began to reply as if reading from a script,

"Inner Circle and Advisors, not Vivienne though. Solas only if the matter is deemed suitably urgent."

"He said that about Solas," the second guard pulled a face that was either a sneer or a poor attempt not to laugh,

"Not exactly ser, we had to get the elf from the infirmary to translate it and he refused to tell us what most of it meant." Dorian nodded, 

"Yes, I asked Solas to translate something his Worship said about a fade rift he sealed a while back. I can imagine." The guard nodded and let him in before closing the door after him. Trusting of them really, he hurried up the stairs.

 

A knock woke Kalloin from his sleep, it took him a second to realize but the second one that followed had him scrambling to sit up,

"One second." Clothes, he needed clothes before answering the door. Apparently there something unacceptable about a naked body. The room was too dark for him to see anything and why was he still drunk? Unless Cullen had decided that the War Council needed to meet early for some reason today. He stumbled over a book as he pulled slightly at the fade to light the candles and fire. There, by the fire, a bag of trousers that Sera had stolen from the Barracks then dumped in Josephine's office the day before. He pulled a pair out and shoved his legs in to them. Too large, not that he had expected anything else, apparently elf wasn't a size that most the tailors that wanted to gain favour with Inquisition understood. Still there was a length of fabric sewn through the waist that he could pull tight and tie. It would have to do, if they wanted him properly dressed they should have waited until it was daylight.

"I'm terribly sorry about this Inquisitor," Kalloin froze at the voice, fenedhis, what was Dorian doing here. "Need to as a favour rather urgently I'm afraid," The mage hurried up the stairs before coming to a halt when he saw Kalloin.

"Ah, you’re not dressed. I shouldn't have woken you up with this, I apologize. This can wait until morning. Sorry." He turned quickly,

"No it's fine. I'm awake now, what's going on? It's clearly important."

 

He hurried over and took the papers that Dorian had been holding before crossing to his bed and dropping onto it to read them. Standing up was beginning to make his head spin slightly.

"I have a friend in the Imperium, Maevaris, she’s a Magister. She's causing all kinds of trouble for the Magisterium particularly those who would support the Venatori. It's not made her popular." Lavellan flicked through the letters until he found the most recent one. Dorian seemed agitated when he looked up from the swirling handwriting,

"Assassins and being accused of murder is just unpopular in Tevinter then? What do they do to pariahs?"

"We get invited to taste all the wine at parties in case it's poisoned." The man seemed to calm down slightly dropping on the sofa,

"She's been helping out, quietly and without any direct ties but her efforts are helping. It would mean a lot if you could make sure she doesn't get wiped of the face of Thedas for it." Lavellan nodded,

"Of course. Even if she wasn't helping I'd probably go along with it. Can't have too many enemies right? What can I do to help?" Dorian shook his head,

"I don't know. She has bodyguards and Leliana's people are already in position to help if there is an attack. But that's all in the background, it wouldn't discourage future attacks." Lavellan flicked over the letters, all addressed to Varric. He'd ask the dwarf about that the next day.

"If we're discouraging mages, would sending Templars help? It's Cullen's answer to most things and it seems to work. Not that I enjoy using them as a threat but I imagine it might work in Tevinter." Dorian's eyes widened slightly,

"You want to send real mage-crushing Templars to the heart of the Imperium and unleash them on Magisters who attack?" Dorian chuckled slightly, "That is brilliant; they won't know what's going on. We don't have Templars with any real abilities in the North, they're just another arm of the Magisterium and Divine." Kalloin smiled and shuffled round off the bed,

"Well I'm glad I didn't really need to read all of these, could have taken a few hours. I'll have Cullen send Templars tomorrow, there's quite a few in the Free Marches near Kirkwall." He settled back into the seat he had been sat in earlier and handed the letters back to Dorian.

"That should be fine, Mae's smart enough to send for help before she needs it. I dare say you could go and visit personally and still arrive before anyone tried to seriously kill her." Kalloin shook his head,

"Dorian this says there were two assassins and they tried to have her executed." Dorian shrugged,

"In the Imperium that's a normal weekend for most of the Magisters, the South is so dull in comparison. I was at a party Mae threw once, costumed ball, delightful fun. Anyway by the time the band had started playing the Archon had announced he was bored of people being polite at parties just because he was there. Next thing there are people tripping over themselves to kill their enemies." Dorian must have noted how bizarre it sounded to Lavellan, "Don't look at me I was watching it all from the balcony, not exactly-"

 

A knock at the door interrupted Dorian midsentence. Lavellan jumped up from the seat allowing the trousers he seemed to have borrowed from a giant to once again hang far too low on his narrow hips. Not that Dorian couldn't appreciate how they shifted across taut muscles as Lavellan moved. Dorian followed him standing up, and he was slightly behind the Inquisitor it was definitely not intentional and didn't let him see similar toned muscles on the elf's back. The door opened before Lavellan had replied and Solas stepped up the stairs quickly,

"Da'len, I have heard word of," Dorian saw the pause as Solas realized Lavellan wasn't alone, it deepened as the elf's eyes tracked the low trousers the Inquisitor wore and the clearly slept in bedsheets. He glanced back to Lavellan with a smirk, "Ma harel, da'len. I did not know ma isa'pala’nerelan." Whatever amusement Solas had found in the situation was clearly not shared by the Inquisitor. Lavellan crossed his arms,

"We aren't discussing isalathen," Solas raised his eyebrows,

"Oh? I would have thought you would have discussed it at length."

"Din'el. Pala adahlen." Solas had barely finished speaking before Lavellan replies in an annoyed tone. Any chance Dorian had of following the conversation was fleeting. Though the tone of Solas comment was familiar to comments he had heard in Tevinter, as was Lavellan's clear refusal to respond to them.

 

Dorian looked back at Solas who had stopped smiling, a slight frown on his lips.

"Not a phrase I would expect one of the Dalish to know. Though your grammar is apalling."

"The language survives, my clan learnt what we could."

"A curious hobby to keep up, given you are sael’banal’varem." Kalloin froze on his way to his desk and turned back to Solas, fire in his eyes,

"Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher. Fenedhis lasa. Ma arla, emma eth." his eyes glanced to Dorian for a second, face softening as he breathed out and turned back to Solas. "You come here and then insult me. Whatever news you bring will wait, now leave."  Solas dropped his gaze slightly with a nod,

"Abalas. Of course, ma nuevenin. Ir abelas Da'halloin." The elf turned and left quickly.

 

Dorian waited until he heard the door close before glancing back to Lavellan,

"I assume he wasn't pleased with my presence here." Lavellan glanced to him expression set hard in a frown,

"Not precisely. I'm not going to translate that, if you don't mind."

"I may not speak elven but I know that conversation well enough. It's funny how cursing sounds the same everywhere, though what he did to set you off I couldn't say."

"I was being mostly pleasant before he brought up the circumstances with my clan. Sael’banal’varem, it means First sent away to nothing." Lavellan pushed his hair away from his face hand staying buried in his hair,

"Ir abelas, I will speak to Cullen about sending some Templar's to your friend tomorrow. In the mean time you said Leliana has some agents already in Tevinter, they can watch to make sure nothing happens before they arrive." Dorian nodded trying to remember exactly what Lavellan said to Solas. He'd worry about translating it later once he had wrapped his head around the speed at which Lavellan had thrown the insults. He hadn't seen Lavellan lose his temper before, there had never been any heat behind the comments he made about visiting nobles. Angry Lavellan with his eyebrows pressed down and narrow eyes looked years older, more intimidating than the everyday nervous smile and bright eyes Dorian was becoming used to.

"Clearly she should have just sent this letter straight to you. Varric has been trying to help with the situation by slowing the lyrium supply, as if they weren't using blood magic." Lavellan's eyes widened,

"Fenedhis I completely forgot." He rustled though his desk sending papers flying.

"You said that one earlier, not bald idiot I'm assuming." Lavellan glanced up at Dorian returning to the papers before replying.

"Fenedhis? It means wolf cock."

"So you told Solas to wolf cock lasa?" A laugh caught Lavellan's throat as his hands closed around an envelope. He sauntered, Dorian refused to believe that he could be walking like that naturally, back towards Dorian.

"I told him to go suck a wolf cock. Or allow a wolf to fuck him, I should probably have specified." Dorian laughed, no wonder the older mage had looked so shocked, especially if the rest of Lavellan's insults had been just as direct.

"I'm sure he got the message. Now what's this that you have forgotten about?"

"Mother Giselle gave this to me, I was going to give it to you earlier."

"A letter for me? Is it a naughty letter from a Countess? Or the dear Mother herself perhaps." He took the envelope and flicked it over feeling a chill as he saw the seal that had been very carefully opened so the wax didn't break.

"No, it's from your father."

 

Dorian stared at the letter for a long time without speaking. Kalloin finally led him to the sofa to sit rather than pacing to the window and back. He'd hesitated to sit down himself, but who knew how long it would be before Dorian said anything, if he did? Creators, maybe he shouldn't have shown Dorian the letter. He studied Dorian as the man read, probably not the correct thing to do but Leliana, while telling him the meanings of a bunch of words Josephine would never have thought to, hadn't mentioned how to respond to an attractive man sat in his room in the middle of the night struggling with family issues, and while Kalloin was half dressed. Finally Dorian threw the letter on the floor and incinerated it,

"I know my son," he looked up at Kalloin, "what my father knows of me would barely fill a thimble." He stood again, pacing, "I'm willing to bet this retainer is a henchman. Hired to knock me on the head and drag me back to Tevinter."

"Your family would have you kidnapped?" This was not what Kalloin had been expecting, he Dorian disliked his family but, kidnapping couldn’t be normal.

"Why not? They've done it before. He expects me to travel with Mother Giselle, although Maker knows why he'd think I would."

"Okay then if you want to go I come along and stop that from happening." Dorian nodded,

"I agree. Let's go meet this so-called family retainer. If it's a trap we escape and kill everyone. You're good at that. If not then I can send him back with a message for my father to stick his alarm up his wit's end." Kalloin nodded,

"We can leave tomorrow. Should I know what's going on before we go out there? There seems to be something," Kalloin trailed off leaving Dorian to shake his head,

"They don't care for my choices, nor I for theirs."

"Still, I think meeting with this retainer and finding out what your family wants is a good idea." Dorian scowled,

"I didn't ask what you thought did I?" Kalloin bit the insides of his cheeks, he was messing this up, Dorian fell into the chair next to him, "that was unworthy, I apologize." Kalloin nodded and let out a small smile,

"You're tired Dorian. Get some rest and tomorrow we can set off as soon as I've finished sorting out some details with Cullen and Josephine, though that might not be until the afternoon sometime."

 

Dorian stood up and tried not to begin ranting about the whole situation. His father, the letter, why in Maker's name Mother Giselle had decided to involve herself in the whole affair. Not to mention Solas, though that had almost been worth the interruption.

"I understand, in which case I will bid you a good night Dalloin?" Dorian raised his eyebrow slightly, watching the shock on the elf's face and then an amused smile,

"Creators first you wake me up in the middle of the night, then your family issues gets thrown at me and now you butcher my name? Not that I'm not used to it."

"Yes well that first bit is Varric's fault. Mother Giselle is the reason you know anything about my family. Plus I'm fairly certain pronouncing that first part requires some ancient elven magic surely? Is there a k in there somewhere That is going to take me some time to work out, if you don't mind me using it?"

"May as well, though I only get called that when I'm in trouble. Otherwise it's Kalloin, means basically the same thing anyway." Dorian smiled and gave a small bow as he turned to leave.

"Goodnight Kal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so let's translate in order of appearance:  
> Wow I wish I had noted down what these meant precisely as I typed this up. I'm going with meanings rather than word for word because I've stuck a few of these phrases together myself and my abilities as a linguist aren't that great.  
> Ma serrannas - my thanks  
> Emma tel'him shemlen sule'nuvenin - I'm not changing anymore for human's wishes  
> Falon - friend  
> Harellan for someone else's lathbora - A traitor because of someone else fell out of love  
> ir bel - too many  
> len'alas lath'din - dirty child no one loves  
> Ir abalas - (I'm) very sorry
> 
> And now for all the wonderful phrases that Kalloin blurts out when Dorian makes that suggestive comment, I would like to apologise to my catholic grandmother.  
> isala means to desire, pala means sex or mate or fuck.  
> Isalan pala na - I want to fuck you  
> isalan ma pala avin - I want you to fuck my mouth  
> mar palasha, mar veraisa - you're attractive, you're sexually desirable  
> Isalan ava ma'da'vin lavar dirthan su em - I want to eat your cum while you speak to me  
> Dar'eth - Go safely 
> 
> And finally the conversation with Solas  
> Da'len - little one, younger person  
> Ma harel, da'len - you decieve, little one  
> ma isa'pala’nerelan - you're homosexual  
> Isalathen - desires  
> Din'el. Pala adahlen. - This ends. Go fuck a forest.  
> sael’banal’varem - exiled first  
> Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher.- May the cat eat you, and the blight eat the cat.  
> Ma arla, emma eth - my home, my safe (place)
> 
> I promise there will be less elven as we go on. I was going to have him just stumbling along in common tongue but actually, it's not like teaching Lavellan how to graciously tell people that he's interested but not right at this second, probably hasn't crossed Josephine's mind when he hasn't mastered not being sarcastic to visiting nobles.
> 
> Next Chapter will probably not be until June, my exams start in two weeks and this whole chapter has just been me procrastinating. There might be typos, if they bug you let me know I'll change them when I next update.


	6. Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting Halward and thinking he's a complete dick. 
> 
> Apologies for the massive delay in getting this one out. But it's here now and I can get onto writing more of the stuff I have planned out.  
> So the good news is that the next chapter is half written

They stopped to camp half a day from Redcliffe. Dorian initially argued to continue onwards but the fatigue from their hurried journey to the Hinterlands had hit after agreeing to a short rest and he had relented quickly when Kalloin pointed out the scouts had caught a decent amount of goat the meat of which was already on the fire. Identifiable if bland food and the promise of his own tent rather than sharing with Solas had put most of the ideas of pressing onwards from his mind. Now, knowing they would be there the following day Dorian’s mind had turned to what he would find there. Kalloin had asked before they left Skyhold, accepting the vague explanation Dorian had offered about accepting choices. The relentless questioning he had been expecting on their way through the Hinterlands hadn’t materialized, Sera had attempted to weasel information out of him but Lavellan seemed to have mastered distracting her, mostly with plans for future pranks of the inner circle. That was the only indication that they weren’t there to close rifts or stop bandits rampaging, Kalloin hadn’t bounded off alone at the first opportunity leaving them to follow whatever trail he left; instead he seemed content to discuss Elven artefacts with Solas, who seemed to have no concern as to why they needed to meet with Dorian’s family retainer. Sera’s questions were reasonable given the circumstances, especially since she was there just in case they needed a lock opening but Lavellan’s distractions seemed to mollify her easily enough. Dorian had protested to Kalloin’s assistance the first night they made camp, he was capable of telling her to mind her own business whenever he wished after all, but Kalloin had just shrugged and wrangled Sera into some target practise.

 

 His magical abilities on the other hand had definitely piqued Solas’ interest.

“Surely you must waste an inordinate amount of magic overcoming your own nullification?”

“Ah, no. I warp the Veil slightly to effect distance between the spells.” As if he would bother if it wasted energy. He barely even thought about the process while he was casting, it was reflex, buried in to years of training. Solas nodded,

“Of course. Have you considered snapping the Veil-warp to enhance the relative energy?”

“Like cracking a whip? Yes, tried that once. Made my teeth taste funny.”

“You need to hold it away from you slightly.” Dorian turned to glance from where Kalloin lay on a blanket, using Sera as a pillow. The elf had an eye cracked reflecting a low green from the fire as he watched the flames,

“What?” Kalloin sat up lifting his arms over his head to stretch, a yawn escaping from his mouth,

“When you pull it and crack the whip. It makes your teeth feel funny because you pulled it back too far. Hold it away slightly and it will work like Solas said.”

“Oh no, just because there’s three of you talkin’ bout it doesn’t make it normal.” Sera pressed a hand to Kalloin’s shoulder giving it a shove as she stood, clearly intent on escaping to the comforts of her tent. Or rather, to that of the scout’s she had been flirting with earlier. Kalloin chuckled as he toppled slowly sideways onto the grass seemingly unworried about remaining upright.

 

“You were following out discussion on burning ambient magic?”  The elf pulled in his legs as he recovered and looked slightly nervous,

“Mostly, I wasn’t really,” a head shake, “I might be wrong but I thought it might be similar to some storm magic.”

“You made a good point da’len, though your grasp of the theoretical applications of manipulating the fade are beyond what I understood a Keeper to be concerned with. The Dalish I have crossed paths with were more interested in the practical aspects.” Dorian saw one of Kalloin’s ears twitch slightly at Solas’ comment,

“Keepers don’t share secrets with those outside the clan, Solas.”

“Of course, my apologies Inquisitor.” Solas stood with a nod to Dorian before retreating to his tent. Whatever tension had been created between the two elves before leaving Skyhold hadn’t dissipated leaving Solas with terse replies whenever he spoke to Kalloin. Admittedly, most of their conversation had been in elven but as far as Dorian could tell there hadn’t been any more suggestions of intimate liaisons with canines so perhaps things were improving. Or had progressed to death threats. Dorian waited until

 

“I didn’t know the Dalish had secrets, do they involve dancing naked in the moonlight? That’s always been hotly contested.”

“Why would elves,” Kalloin shook his head a blush creeping over his face; “I will never understand where Shemlen get their tales from.”

Dorian glanced around the empty camp. Sitting having a cosy chat with the Inquisitor in the middle of the night was far to open for interpretation for his preferences. He stood up sweeping creases from his robes.

“Oh you know how it is, one writer gets a little too interested in what elves get up to in the forest, next thing you know anybody with pointy ears can make flowers bloom. You did make a good point however. I shall have to try it once I’ve done some more research.”

“I could show you,” the reply came rushed from Kalloin’s mouth followed by a painfully awkward silence. Dorian turned back to Kalloin eyebrows arched expectantly. Dorian bit back the innuendo that had formed in his mouth waiting for Kalloin to attempt whatever it was he was trying to suggest. The elf had stood up and even in the dim light was clearly blushing, “that is, if you wanted. Obviously, you are capable of figuring it out yourself I just thought-.  Banalhan av ‘ma. If you want to see what I am talking about so you can work out whether it would work for your attacks. That would, I can show you. If you want.” Dorian shook his head at the flurry of words; still at least most of it was in a language he spoke.

“How could anyone refuse when you offer so eloquently? Lead on Inquisitor.” He gestured openly away from camp with his staff. Kalloin seemed frozen to the spot for a moment before grabbing his own with a grin and taking off the way Dorian had indicated.

 

They had headed a few minutes from camp, the scouts had objected slightly at the Inquisitor leaving the safety of their patrols but there was every chance he would end up setting the tents on fire or sending a lightning bolt into one of the flags and upset somebody. Plus it meant spending more time with Dorian, which he could admit to enjoying despite the inevitable embarrassment it would bring. Kalloin glanced behind him at Dorian who was muttering complaints about the mud as they followed the path to a clearing. A smile grew across his face,

“You realise the mud can’t hear you.”

“And you realize that these boots are completely beyond salvaging? I already lost one pair when you dragged me to Crestwood.” Kalloin snorted with laughter, the man was ridiculous. And smart. And kind. And attractive. Whatever god had sent Dorian to the Inquisition had not been routing for Kalloin’s sanity. Still the human did seem to enjoy flirting with him so maybe that was something.

“I’ll get Harritt to make you a new pair.” A sniff as Dorian appeared alongside him,

“That man wouldn’t know fashionable footwear if it was wedged up his backside. I’ll speak to Josephine if you don’t object.”

“They’re boots, why would I object?” Kalloin looked down at his own boots, layered with thick mud, torn grass and possibly some blood. Was there some custom about where to source boots that he wasn’t aware of. Nobody else had mentioned it, but then maybe everyone else was just being polite after it took so long to convince him to wear any at all. Dorian must have caught his expression; the mage shook his head lightly as he passed Kalloin into the clearing.

“It’s a human expression, don’t trouble yourself over it.”

 

 “So when I’m casting I summon a lot of lightning, not directing it at anything just in the area. Having it close by makes casting easier and it can hit the enemy.”

“Yes I noticed, didn’t a lightning bolt strike a wolf that Cassandra had just stabbed a week back?”

“She dispelled it before it did any damage; I’m working on it not hitting our people.”

“Well thank the Maker for that. It wouldn’t do for our Inquisitor to be shocking his own forces every time he casts a bit of magic.” Kalloin glanced to Dorian as he directed a strike next to the man’s boots. Dorian jumped slightly and raised an eyebrow at Kalloin,

“Very mature.”

“Next one hits your weird face hair thing.” Kalloin tried not to laugh at Dorian’s expression. The outrage was clear,

“Weird face hair thing? That’s what you’re calling the wonderful product of my careful attention and grooming? Weird?” The laughed escape Kalloin,

“I threatened to electrocute it and you’re worried about that?” Kalloin shook his head, “Dhula’sal’in, face hair stuff. I forgot the word. And it is strange. It moves when you talk.” Dorian looked like Kalloin had grown a second head,

“Of course it moves when I talk. So does Blackwall’s beard as much as I loathe comparing the two.” Kalloin forced himself to straighten his face, holding his expression flat.

“It’s harder to tell with him, you can’t really see much underneath all the hair, I’m not entirely sure he actually has a mouth under there.” Dorian grinned, amusement dancing over his eyes,

“This is a man you’ve shared meals with. Where did you think he was putting the food?”

“I thought he might be feeding the hair.”

 

“After we stop fighting I need to pull the energy back in without it hitting me.” It had taken them a few minutes to stop chuckling about the self aware creature that Blackwall’s beard clearly was. Even then, all it had taken was Dorian to suggest trying to find the thing a friend to reduce Kalloin to a giggling heap. Still they had managed to get back to discussing magic as the moment passed. Dorian sat on a fallen statue watching Kalloin cast, attempt to cast. Kalloin glanced over to Dorian the man was watching him with an expression that wouldn’t be out of place on a wolf about to give chase to a nug. Unnerving, his magic flickered slightly as Kalloin struggled to focus on drawing it across the veil and not the smirk that Dorian was sending his way. Kalloin breathed out sharply thenpulled on the energy surrounding him, the small shock to his fingers and ears telling him that he had drawn it in too quickly. Dorian snorted out a laugh gesturing to his own hair. Kalloin reached up to find his hair stood on end reaching towards his hand as he realized that it was charged with static electricity. Kalloin shook his head as he released the energy once again,

“If I draw it away from myself slightly,” Kalloin pulled on the fizzing power once more letting it slip through his fingers as he pulled it back. Purple sparks danced over his hands before flickering out as he let the connection to the fade falter and die out.

“So rather than pulling it to you directly you’re holding the energy where it can be tapped into without interfering with new casting. If I warp the veil directing it with my staff rather than just in the general area that should work. Or set us all on fire I suppose.” Dorian rambled, the excitement bubbling over slightly into his words. He let out a smile at Kalloin before nodding politely and straightening himself up.

“Thank you Inquisitor, it’s refreshing to find someone interested in casting techniques. Especially this far South. I’m surprised the circles even bothered with staffs.” Kalloin shrugged focusing on all the pointers Josephine had given him to appear neutral and disinterested. It was difficult, he definitely cracked a small smile but the alternative was probably embarrassing himself rambling in two languages revealing to Dorian that despite what had probably been a success with his magical theories, he was the most incompetent Inquisitor that could have been chosen.

 

 * * * 

 

They reached Redcliffe in the early afternoon, though it was clear that Leliana’s agents had been set up there before they had even left Skyhold. Dorian had only seen Kalloin speak to a couple of them but from what he could gather there hadn’t been signs of any Tevinter forces in the area. Three men all holed up in the inn, apparently booked out for the month. There were a few Templars milling around, though they now donned the Inquisition armour the hint of ozone in the air as they passed from the lyrium made them stand out. That and the suspicious looks when the Inquisitor absentmindedly twirled his staff while waiting for reports. Dorian was lingering around a statue listening out for snippets of plots and conspiracies. So far, all he had heard was that there was a spirit in a lake and that the Hero of Ferelden had taken a piss in this very town during the last blight. Most of the buildings seemed to be in slightly better shape than when the Venatori had taken the town. Probably repaired in part by the inquisition.  Kalloin approached slowly offering a small smile as he reached Dorian,

“We can head back to Skyhold as soon as you want.” Dorian looked up at the inn, and the suspiciously hard working civilians who were repairing a nearby barn. This was ridiculous, he would just need to go in there and tell whichever Soperati his father had sent that he was not returning to Tevinter. His gaze slipped back to Kalloin who was standing in front of him, staff hanging low in his hand as he waited for Dorian to answer.

“No, I need to get this over with. Besides, if we don’t go in there this excuse for a town will have nowhere to drink for weeks. A tragedy that I cannot allow to happen on my watch.” Kal nodded, and waiting for Dorian to follow headed for the tavern.

 

 Kalloin held the door for Dorian as he entered the building. The wooden slats over the windows cast a low light over the room filled with a haze of stale beer and a rustle that suggested a rat problem.

“Uh oh, nobody’s here. This doesn’t bode well.” Dorian muttered as he strode past Kal. The mage turned back to Kalloin, probably to suggest they left but he didn’t get the chance.

“Dorian.” A man, clearly older, from Tevinter. Dorian paled slightly stopping in his tracks before he turned around,

“Father,” sounded resigned

“So there is no retainer then, just a smoke screen.”  The shock had faded from Dorian’s voice now, replaced by anger. Kalloin’s eyes flickered between the two, waiting for some indication of what to do.

“So you were told. I apologize Inquisitor, I never meant for you to be involved in this.”

“Of course not. It wouldn’t do for Magister Pavus to be seen with the dread inquisitor what would people think. What is this exactly father? Ambush? Kidnapping? Warm family reunion”

Dorian’s father turned to look at Kalloin, an exasperated expression.

“This is how it has always been.”

Kalloin dug his fingernails into his palms, he was here to support Dorian but this seemed to be a family matter,

“I should go, leave you to work this out,”

“Oh no you don’t. I want a witness. I want somebody to hear the truth.” Kalloin halted; there was a dark tone to Dorian’s words.

“Dorian, there’s no need to-” the warning tone in his father’s voice had no impact on Dorian who had rounded on Kal,

“I prefer the company of men, my father disapproves.” Dorian looked back to his father, loathing evident on his face. He seemed to be waiting on a response. Company of men, rather than elves or dwarfs? That didn’t sound right, Kalloin shook his head, lost at the turn the conversation had taken. He leant back against the wall before speaking,

“Teleolasan,” he muttered, “you might need to explain that.” Dorian’s face grew incredulous

“Did I stutter? Men and the company thereof. As in sex. Surely even you’ve heard of that.” Kalloin felt his cheeks heat up as Dorian turned his frustrated expression to look at him more fully.

“That’s not exactly news Dorian.”

“And why should it be? Why should anyone care? I have no idea.”

“This display is uncalled for.” Dorian’s father interjected again, his tone akin to a parent scolding a child over misbehaving.

“No it is called for. You called for it by luring me here.”

“This is not what I wanted.”

I was never what you wanted father or have you forgotten?

“So no women at all? You’ve never wanted to?”

“Not to my recollection. Don’t get me wrong they’re wonderful they’re just, not for me. That’s not so beyond belief is it?” Kalloin opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Dorian’s father. They exchanged words the spite in them clear. Old arguments surfacing without build up. Kalloin looked between the two,

“So that’s what all this is about? Who you sleep with?” Dorian glanced back to Kalloin,

“That’s not all it’s about.”

 

Kalloin hesitated before padding across the room to Dorian. The man didn't move from where he was hunched over the bar, hands clenched around its wooden edge. His father stepped forwards into Kalloin's peripheral vision, mouth opening slightly with what was undoubtedly another excuse. He froze in place when Kalloin met his gaze without bothering to hide the disgust that had been growing as Dorian's story emerged. Using blood magic on his own son. Purely for who they slept with. And then to not understand why that child may choose to not have anything to do with you again. The magister sighed slightly as he closed his mouth eyes flickering to Dorian. Kalloin leant against the bar, too close for propriety judging from the Magister's expression.

"If you want to leave we can, I think you should hear what he has to say though. If only so you don't waste your time wandering what it was he wanted once we leave."

Dorian's eyes met his; slightly watery although Kalloin was sure the man would deny that if he ever mentioned it. He breathed out deeply before turning to his father,

"Tell me why you're here."

"If I had known I would drive you to the Inquisition." Dorian almost wheeled, frustration clearly pouring out of him.

"You didn't. I joined the Inquisition because it was the right thing to do. Once you would have known that." He glanced back at Kalloin defeat in his eyes as he headed for the door.

"Once I had a son who trusted me, a trust I betrayed." Dorian paused at his father's words, "I only wanted to see him again, hear his voice," Dorian looked to Kalloin, expression torn. Kalloin found himself nodding as he rose to leave the inn. Dorian pulled his features into an approximation of a smile before turning back to his father.

 

* * *

 

Kalloin wasn't expecting to see Dorian that night. They had taken rooms at the inn, once Magister Halward had been seen safely, and with impressive speed, to his boat. He was flicking through one of the libraries seemingly infinite copies of Hard in Hightown when there was a knock on his door,

"Inquisitor?” Kalloin scrambled from his chair to get the door, even dampened from its normal ring, Dorian’s Tevene accent was distinctive. He had meant to check in on Dorian before he retired to his rooms but the lack of reply from knocking on the door earlier combined with the missing wine bottles from the bar had given him a good indication of what the man was doing.

 

He opened the door and caught Dorian who it appeared had been leaning slightly against it. The smell of booze rose from the man’s robes.

“Dorian, what did you drink?” Kalloin guided Dorian to the bed and sat next to him, trying not to think about how much alcohol it must have taken to get the mage to this state. Dorian focused up at his with a happy, unaware smile,

“Most the passable drinks in the Tavern, I was going to move on to the Ferelden ale but then I remembered I have a sense of taste.” Dorian leant back slightly, almost falling back onto the mattress as Kalloin grabbed his shoulder to steady him. He was drunk, beyond drunk. Kalloin wasn’t entirely sure how Dorian had even made it from his own room without falling. Maybe he should try to find some water, or maybe let Dorian sleep it off.  Sera would probably have an idea, although that would mean leaving Dorian alone, probably not the best idea.

“He says we’re alike, too much pride.” Dorian was managing to focus on him now, though his words slurred very slightly,

“Are you alright?” Dorian frown at the question,

“Not really, no.” Kalloin wasn’t sure if Dorian was referring to his father or current state, or possibly both. Dorian turned to look at his suddenly, eyes wide as if trying to convey something vitally important,

“He tried to change me, make me more acceptable.” Kalloin nodded,

“I know.”

“I don’t think,” he began, voice quiet even through the alcohol, “I don’t think I would have liked that Dorian.”

 They sat in silence for a while, the late hour something the noise from the main bar die down.  Dorian looking around the room sadly, fidgeting with the hem of his robe . Finally he turned to Kalloin,

“Maker knows what you must think of me now.” Kalloin shrugged and gave a smile,

“Right now you’re horribly drunk. Mostly though, I think you’re brave.” Dorian looked at him confusion dancing in his eyes as he tried to grasp at the threads of what was being said,  
“Brave?”

“It’s not easy to walk your own path, give up everything. I don't think any less of you.” Dorian glanced to the door, whatever was 

"My father never understood. Living a lie, it festers inside you like a poison. You have to fight for what's in your heart." Kalloin started to nod before he found a hand on his jaw as Dorian pulled him in to a kiss.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elven:  
> Dhula’sal’in - facial hair  
> Teleolasan - I don't understand
> 
> I'm very much looking forward to Mother Giselle in the next chapter. That and all the awkwardness that is coming up.
> 
> I have a tumblr where I post updates and my occasional attempt to be artistic. Having said that it's not 1000% dragon age focused but feel free to head over.  
> http://impossiblyclassybarbarian.tumblr.com/


	7. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update while I work on the bulk of the next chapter.  
> Ever have those mornings where you aren't entirely sure what happened after you started drinking? I strongly suspect Dorian has had several.

Dorian heard somebody shout, or something slam. He wasn’t too sure, it was  _loud_.

He opened his eyes, fighting the urge to hide from the bright sunlight. He shuffled back under the sheet, the rough fabric brushing against his skin. His mind spun an alcoholic haze, the temptation to roll over and burrow back down in the hope of sleeping through his hangover floated through his head before dying with a horrible realisation. These weren’t his bedsheets.

 

A sneeze caught his attention. Dorian shoved the sheet down and looked around the room in horror. The chain of inappropriate bedmates he had woken up to over the years flashed through his mind, men who he barely remembered from the previous night. He’d mostly had enough forethought to leave before they woke, the other times had been, _difficult_. The first time he had found himself in somebody’s bed the morning after had been harsh. A blunt reminder that the previous night, the touches, the desire, would never be acknowledged. The man had a slave show Dorian the back way out, lest anybody saw him leaving. He’d seen his fleeting lover at a soiree a few weeks later, the man blanked the naïve smile Dorian had offered him. That had stung. Maker he’d actually cried when he was safely back in his own rooms, pathetic really. He’d improved though, learned to laugh off the awkward explanations his bed partners gave as to why this wouldn’t be happening again.  _Of course not,_ _like I could become accustomed to such cheap wine_. He could just shrug this off as a drunken night, no harm done.

 

The bed next to him was empty though. He looked around the room, noting that he was still wearing half his clothes and a tankard of something was on the bedside table next to a potion. Dorian reached for the potion and noticed a flash of something. His throat closed as Dorian fought the rising wave through his stomach. Kalloin, the Inquisitor and probably the most scrutinised man in Thedas, was curled around a pillow on the floor; boots and jacket dumped in a pile next to him.

Dorian wracked his brain trying to remember what happened. He remembered walking, well, stumbling along the corridor to Kalloin’s room. They had talked about, something. Then sitting on the bed. Then, nothing. The vague recollection of deciding to thank the Inquisitor for coming to Redcliffe, show his appreciation. Dorian felt uneasy; what had he done? And more importantly, what was he supposed to do now?

 

Dorian’s head throbbed, a dull beat that dragged slowly behind whenever he turned his head. Doubtless he’d been in a state when he showed up last night. The potion and the, probably water, was Kalloin’s doing then. The elf had mentioned knowing quite a bit of herbalism. Dorian gave the potion a sniff then cringed, nose crinkling at the overpowering smell of elfroot. He tossed the small vial back empting it into his mouth anticipating the bitter taste. It didn’t come, instead there was a slight fizz across his tongue then a burn. He reached for the water without thinking. The thought of slipping out of the room without disturbing the elf was tempting. If he could sneak out without waking Kalloin he could retreat to an empty room and deal with this mess once his brain didn’t feel like it was sloshing around inside his skull. Dorian pulled himself up and reached for his hair, his moustache was no doubt beyond mourning. There was a tuft sticking out horizontally from his temple, an annoyed groan escaped Dorian’s lips before he could stop it.

 

On the floor, Kalloin’s eyes shot open as he sat up.

“Oh, you’re awake.” His tone was easy, chipper almost. Despite seemingly sleeping on a wooden floor with only a sheet, or something. Dorian stared at the grey fabric that Kalloin had been sleeping on. He almost laughed, that was his robe. Carefully laid out flat on the floor and currently sat on by Kalloin who was looking at him with concern,

“Are you okay? I made a potion that should help.” Dorian ignored the question. His robes for Maker’s sake.

“Was that really necessary? To commandeer my robes to sleep on?” Kalloin paused for a second before standing up. He picked up the offending material and shook it out, an amused smile spread across his face.

“You’re the one that threw it on the floor, and the bed’s not exactly big enough to share.” Dorian felt his muscles tense at the comment. Why had he taken off his robe?

“Hmm, you’ll have to forgive me,” Dorian kept his tone light, unconcerned, “I find that the events of last night are somewhat hazy.” Kalloin’s expression dropped almost instantly, uncertainty creeping across his features,

“You don’t remember do you?”

“Not precisely, no.” Kalloin glanced at the robe in his hand and tossed it lightly to Dorian, bending to retrieve his own coat from the floor. He turned away from Dorian as he pulled it on; the lightness of his earlier movements had gone. He was cold, detached and looked like he was itching to escape the room

“You showed up drunk, we talked for a bit and then you took over my bed. I’m sure being Inquisitor is supposed to guarantee me somewhere to sleep.” Kalloin shoved his boots on as he spoke, fumbling as he attempted to tie the laces.

 

Dorian looked around the room, hoping for more clues. Smallclothes draped over the bedpost was probably a bit hopeful but the room was spotless. Save Kalloin’s pack on the desk next to a pestle and mortar.

“So that was all that happened? I rambled about my father then passed out on the bed,”

“Yes.” Too quick. Kalloin glanced back to Dorian and his shoulders sagged slightly, clearly aware of how terrible the lie had been.

“You may have suggested some other activities.”

  
“Ah.” Kalloin was blushing slightly; staring at a spot on the floor as if a tiny jester had appeared and was performing a routine complete with suitably miniature animals.

“And mentioned something about alcohol not keeping you down.” It was Dorian’s turn to look away that time.

“I apologise Inquisitor. Especially after the whole mess with my father yesterday. Maker knows what you must think of me now.” Kalloin smiled slightly but it didn’t meet his eyes,

“We had this conversation last night. You’re very brave for choosing to walk your own path. As for,” Kalloin hesitated before gesturing vaguely at Dorian, “this, I’ll take that as a compliment. Unless it’s a strange shem, human custom I haven’t heard of yet.”

“Yes, it’s the get obscenely drunk and make passes at people you shouldn’t game. I recommend playing it with the Commander at some point.”

“In that case we should set off back to Skyhold soon.”

“Of course, I’ll need to get ready. Can’t let the troops see me like this, it would be devastating for moral to find out I don’t wake up flawless all the time.”   
“Ma nuvenin, as you wish.” He turned to leave but stopped at the door looking back at Dorian with a smile that looked altogether too smug,

“Oh, and vyn sila, Dorian.” He swung through the door quickly before Dorian could demand a translation.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vyn sila, as far as I can work out with my admittedly limited liguistic skills and http://archiveofourown.org/works/3719848 can be translated as you would remember.
> 
> I was going to pick up from where the last chapter ended. But then I started on writing it from Dorian's POV and went with it. Also, I have somehow managed to convince a friend to beta this for me so enjoy the better grammar. They are wonderful and fantastic  
> I have more exams in a couple of weeks so the next update will be at some point. It will be a nice long one though.


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